all the world is made of faith
by allyourdarlings
Summary: "All the world is made of faith, and trust, and pixie dust." Killian Jones has faith that he will find his happy ending in the Land Without Magic – so he takes a ride on the Evil Queen's Dark Curse. Season 1 Rewrite with Cursed! Killian. Captain Swan romance / Captain Book friendship.
1. welcome to storybrooke

**Chapter 1 – welcome to storybrooke**

Emma wakes to an all too familiar setting. Steel bars, stone walls, grey ceiling. Her body tenses, her heart seizes, until she realizes she's not in her old jail cell. _What the hell happened last night?_ she wonders as she takes in her surroundings. There was a wolf in the road, the Storybrooke sign and then...

"Rise and shine, princess," a snarky voice says near her.

Emma rolls over on the thin cot and places both her feet on the floor. She looks over at the woman in the next cell who is eyeing her through heavy smudged makeup and snapping her gum loudly. Emma might have called her pretty if she didn't have such a miserable expression on her face.

"Are you alright, love?"

Emma's head snaps toward the cell doors. She expects to see the town sheriff – slash, mayor's lackey – but instead, she is greeted by the bluest set of eyes she's ever seen. Her stomach swoops unexpectedly and she tries to say something, _anything_ , really but all that comes out is an embarrassing _uuhhh_ sound.

"What am I saying?" the man looks down and shakes his head. "Of course you've had a rough night."

"Umm…" he continues, biting his lower lip as he pries open a cardboard box resting in the crook of his left elbow. "Pop-Tart?" he says as he tilts the open box towards her.

Emma does not believe in stars aligning or fairytale endings – _but_ , seriously, Pop-Tarts? She leans forward and eyes them. They are frosted blueberry, her _favorite_. "I love you."

She barely recognizes that she has spoken out loud until she sees him straighten and stare at her intently. Emma freezes – she knows people say things like love flippantly all the time – but she's not one of those people. It is like her subconscious has betrayed her. _Over Pop-Tarts_. She should wave her words off but she can't. She has been pulled into the deepness of his eyes, caught in his stormy gaze, on the brink of drowning. Until she hears the woman in the neighboring cell snap, "Killian, don't feed the squirrels."

Emma shakes her head. Emma Swan does not swoon over men, no matter how handsome they are. She doesn't even know where these stupid metaphors in her head are popping in from but they need to stop.

"No need to be rude, Lacey," Killian is saying. The woman merely snorts. "And I feed you." As if to prove it, he reaches into the box and tosses her a Pop-Tart. It sails through two sets of bars to land perfectly on the cot, right in front of this Lacey woman.

Emma can't help but blink in surprise. "That's quite a throw," she murmurs.

Killian chuffs quietly and looks down. "Lots of practice," he offers humbly. "Here," he says without looking up, digging into the box again to pull out a foiled Pop-Tart for her.

Emma wonders at the blush sweeping his cheeks as he scratches behind his ear. He seems to be one part shy, two parts intense. It's probably a good thing they aren't awkwardly staring at each other still.

"Thanks," she says as she reaches out to claim her prize. She hadn't realized how hungry she was until he offered her the Pop-Tarts. She never had dinner last night. She didn't even have time to enjoy her cupcake when Henry knocked on her door.

As though reading her mind, Killian says, "So, you are Henry's mother?"

"Huh?" she says around a mouthful of Pop-Tart.

He kindly ignores her inelegance and continues as though she had responded with some dignity. "How lovely it is for him to have you back in his life, love."

"Actually I was just dropping him off. And it's Emma, Emma Swan. Not love."

"Ah, a tough lass," he replies with admiration before averting his gaze again. "He pauses for a moment, licking his lip. Emma finds herself following his tongue as it traces his lower lip and she almost misses his next comment. "Henry's a special boy. I think you would like him very much if you stayed."

"Look…" She begins but decides she doesn't need to explain herself to a stranger. "Do you work at the sheriff station? Think you could let me out?"

Killian looks extremely apologetic when he shakes his head. "Sorry, I'm just here to pick up Lacey but Graham should be here any minute now." He pushes the sleeve back on his left arm to look down at his watch. His movement causes her to look down and she notices that his left hand is a prosthetic.

She looks up to see that she's been caught staring. "Sorry…I…" she begins when she sees him blush again and pull his left arm behind his body. "Hey–"

"He's usually in by eight-fifteen," he says too fast.

As if Graham had been waiting to make the perfect entrance, he walks in. "Lacey, if I'm going to let you out, you're going to have to behave. Put on a smile."

Lacey gives Graham a wide insincere smile as she leaves. She reaches for Killian's fake hand behind his back and pulls him with her. "C'mon, you're going to buy me a coffee."

Killian twists around to look at Emma once more. Before Lacey pulls him around the corner, his piercing blue eyes find hers and he calls to her, "Welcome to Storybrooke, Swan."

*Title from J.M. Barrie's _Peter Pan_.

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything or make any profit from this work. Characters and some dialogue from the show.

*** And oh yeah, I'm going to address why he's still Killian Jones even when cursed.


	2. somewhere a clock is ticking

Emma is rushing down the hallways of Storybrooke Elementary when she collides with Killian Jones. They end up in an odd dance of flailing and tangled limbs as they try to keep their balance. Killian barely maintains a tentative hold on his cup holder while she has to readjust her grip on Henry's storybook.

"Are you following me?" she demands once they manage not to pull each other on to the floor.

Killian gives her a bewildered look. "I did not expect to see you here."

"Well, why are you here?" she asks, crossing her arms over Henry's book and scowling at him. He has no right to be just around the corner.

"Because I work here?" he responds, one eyebrow inching up his forehead.

"Oh…oh, well." Okay, well maybe he does have a right to be here. "Well, I have to get going. I need to find Henry."

She steps around him but he pivots and follows her.

"Has the lad run off again?" he asks, concern evident in his blue eyes.

"Um, yeah," she says, thrown off by the sincerity in his expression. "Mary Margaret, Henry's teacher…" Emma shakes her head. "You probably know that's Henry's teacher. But well, Mary Margaret says I can find him at his castle."

"Quite likely."

Even as she is rushing out of the door, she can see him hesitating to say something else.

"What is it?" she asks as she exits the school and hangs a right. She really doesn't have time for this and she doesn't like being followed around.

"Well, I could take you there. You're going the wrong way in any case."

Emma huffs in frustration and turns left. "Don't you need to be at…I don't know, work?"

"I have a free period."

"A free period? What do you teach? Recess?" she snarks at him.

She doesn't do things with other people. She works best alone. So she doesn't usually care about hurt feelings and paper cuts if it means she is left alone. But then he is falling half a step behind her and his shoulders move in as though he is shrinking at her tone. He probably is.

"No," he mumbles and coughs, "I'm just the school librarian," as though he's ashamed.

Emma sighs. So, it's not a glamorous job but she doesn't quite understand why he looks like a kicked puppy. There's probably a story there, not that she wants to hear it at all. And not that her usual bedside manner would make her a good listener. But the man did give her a Pop-Tart this morning and well, no one's ever given her a Pop-Tart. _Get over the Pop-Tart_ , she says to herself.

But okay, maybe she can work on her people skills sometimes too.

"Well, are you going to give me one of those coffees and lead the way or what?" _Right_ , that wasn't much better. In fact, it's worse.

But _somehow_ , it seems to perk him up and he offers one of the cups in the holder. "My car is this way," he says.

"You can drive?"

 _Really, Emma_? she says to herself. So she's really out of practice with her people skills but in her defense, she hadn't cared too much about them, nor needed them – at least, not after _everything_. He's frozen in front of him and she isn't surprised at all when he finally says, "let's walk" instead without turning around.

Not sure what to say, she just murmurs a quiet "yeah" and takes a sip of her coffee. Only, it's not coffee. It's cocoa and whipped cream and cinnamon and the feeling of home and belonging and _this is not real_.

"Hot cocoa with cinnamon?" she asks in disbelief.

He turns back, a slightly horrified look on his face. "Oh, oh…uh, I apologize, Swan. I gave you Mary Margaret's drink." He looks down at the drink in his cup holder. "Here, have mine." He tilts the cup towards her to take.

"No, no, it's fine," she says, reflexively gripping the cup. "I've already been drinking this. It's just…"

"Aye, the cinnamon. It's different, isn't it? One of Mary Margaret's quirks."

Emma nods absentmindedly as they resume walking. She's never met anyone with _her_ quirk before. Except, maybe it's not her quirk at all. Nothing special about her, just orphan Emma with nothing to her name.

"Why aren't you drinking your coffee?" she asks after a moment, not wanting to get too lost in her own thoughts. "Are you just going to carry around the drink holder?"

Killian coughs. "I can't really take the cup out while… Well, you can only do so much with one hand."

Emma frowns at her cup as they fall into another awkward silence of their own making – _her_ making, really. It seems to stretch tighter and tighter as they get further and further away from the school and closer to the water.

She finds herself thinking about her drink again and eventually, she blurts out, "Do you believe in fate?" She doesn't know why she even asks. She doesn't. She doesn't, really.

He frowns a bit and presses his lips together. She doesn't think he will respond until he finally says, "Uh…aye, I suppose I do."

"You suppose? You don't sound so sure," she finds herself saying.

"I…" he hesitates. She would have been willing to bet he would be scratching the back of his ear if his hand was free. "I don't believe in coincidences," he finally says.

"Ooookay, now you're talking in a circle because that sounds a lot like believing in fate." She did say that in a nicer tone, didn't she? Probably not.

Killian is just shaking his head though, not hunching into himself like before, so she thinks maybe, it was okay.

"It's easier to believe in fate, to believe that the cards fall where they may and you aren't in control of what happens. But that's, that's like giving yourself an excuse. Fate may happen, or whatever generalization you've assigned for what happens to you, but it's up to you to chart your own destiny. You just have to fight."

Emma snorts. "That's not as easy as it sounds."

"I didn't say it was easy, Swan. But it doesn't mean it isn't simple."

Emma pauses and realizes she has to give him some credit. She had wanted to roll her eyes at him for using a word like "destiny" but she thinks she gets what he means. "So, what are you fighting for?"

Even though he's not looking directly at her (he's never really looking directly at her for more than a second anyway), he looks a little lost. Maybe even a lot lost. And he walks a little faster. "The castle is close by," he says instead. And she sees it, a wooden playground structure on a small stretch of beach, and a small lonely figure.

Just another lonely figure in this harsh world.

"Look, Swan, you may not believe in the curse –" he mutters next to her.

"And _you_ do?"

"I didn't say that. Not that it matters if I believe or not. But Emma." And the use of her name really gets her attention. "Henry does. A child's faith and trust in you is like magic. It's pure and it's beautiful. But it is fragile and once it's broken, it won't be the same." It sounds like he's speaking from experience and it makes her heart ache because she has had that experience too. "Just, be careful. He's ten and he's lonely. Don't tear down his castle all at once, aye?"

"I'm no savior, you know," she sighs.

"You don't need to be. Just be there for him."

And somehow, she finds assurance when his blue eyes finally connect with hers.

* * *

She's restless. The wallpaper isn't the only dated item in the room she's booked at the local inn. She can't find a decent channel on the boxed TV set and she doesn't want to think about curses and happy endings and parents and a _son_. She gets another weather channel and she throws her hands up in the air. Maybe what she needs is a walk.

She grabs her red leather jacket and is down the stairs and out of the entrance in moments.

She takes Main Street down and is soon where she was last night when she came to Storybrooke. Instead of the bespectacled therapist with his dog, she finds the handsome school librarian, standing in the middle of the street, looking up at the clock tower.

"What are you doing out here?" she calls once she's close enough.

He turns to look at her. "Following me, Swan?" he asks as he arches an eyebrow at her.

"You're the one standing at an intersection. One of the few they have in this quaint little town as far as I can tell. Someone was bound to run into you. Or a car," she thinks with a frown as she pulls him by his collar to the sidewalk.

"I didn't know you cared," he grins at her. "Look at you, already saving people."

It's slightly flirty and he actually makes eye contact with her. He seems far bolder than he was earlier today and a wayward shot of electricity runs down her spine. She shakes her head. She promised Henry she would stay a week – just for him – not for anyone else. She can't be here for anyone else.

"I just happened to come across you."

"Perhaps it's fate," he breathes.

And it's too much for Emma. She doesn't do soft and intimate with strangers, with _anyone_ , and she's only just noticed she's still holding onto his collar. "Ha, ha," she says with as much sarcasm as she can muster as she lets go and steps back.

"I decided to stay. For Henry," she tells him, to change the topic, to remind herself, all of the above.

"I know. For a week."

She squints at him. "How do you know already? I mean, I get it, small town, but _really_?"

Killian points to the clock tower above them. "The clock's been broken for as long as I remember. It's restarted though. Must have been some decision you've made."

"Right, because I'm charting own destiny," she scowls at him.

"Aye, that's the spirit, Swan," Killian smiles before he tips his head towards her and then turns, walks down the road and disappears into the night.

* * *

*Title from Snow Patrol song of the same name.


	3. i know this story

Emma looks up when she hears a knock on her car window. Killian Jones is holding a to-go cup and what promises to be a greasy dinner. She should really send him away. She doesn't trust displays of generosity. Someone always wants something, has an ulterior motive, expects to be paid back in return. _Only_ , Killian doesn't look like he even expects her to let him in from the cold. He's about to place the brown bag from Granny's on her hood when she reaches over and unlocks her passenger door.

"I'm not sure your salary can support both my bail and all of my meals," she says to him as she motions for him to come in.

He shuffles a bit until she repeats the motion. "I didn't have to post bail for Lacey this morning," he says once he slides in. "It's a first as far as I can remember."

"Hmm," she replies as she digs into her jean pocket to pull out some crumbled bills. She grimaces at the wrinkled sweaty mess but hands it to him anyway.

"No, no, I can't take that," he says as he backs himself into the corner of his seat like she's pressuring him to take a gateway drug.

"Look, Pop-Tart aside, I don't really accept... _things_ ," she says, gesturing at the brown bag and hot drink between them. "I'm paying for this."

He is still insistent, shaking his head at her. "I would get anyone dinner who needs it."

"I'm sure you would but I'm very capable of getting my own dinner," she counters, waving the bills in front of him again.

"Is this why you are out here by yourself so late at night?"

"No, I'm out here…um, because…" This was a messy story she didn't want to tell.

"I know, Ruby told me about the room. Doesn't explain why you haven't purchased your supper if you are so very capable."

Emma can't help but raise an eyebrow at him. There's a definite edge of sarcasm in his response that she didn't expect. Killian has surprised her since the beginning but she's still pretty good at reading people. It might mean the shy librarian is getting comfortable with her. He has sort of integrated himself in her life rather fast though this is the first time their encounter isn't just incidental.

She stares at him in what she thinks is an intimidating way but this time he just shrugs at her.

"Okay, okay, smartass," she finally concedes. The smell of crispy onion rings is hard to ignore for much longer anyway. "But I'm buying the Pop-Tarts tomorrow morning."

The corners of Killian's mouth lift in a small smile. "Then we are in accord. It's a date, love."

Ah, and _there_ it is. What he's been angling for with his Pop-Tarts and hot cocoa and onion rings and damn, what looks like a grilled cheese sandwich. She should've known. Not that she isn't flattered, the man is striking with his piercing blue eyes, dark hair and high cheekbones. But he's not her type – she likes a man with scruff –and she's not here to find her prince charming. She's here for her son.

"Look, Killian, it's not a date."

"Oh, oh, no no of course not," he replies, eyes wide. "I didn't mean it like that, of course not. It was just a matter of speech," he explains, his hand and prosthetic held up as in protest.

She can see that he's not lying. He hadn't meant to imply it would be a date. And not that she wants to date him – because, of course, she doesn't – but okay, he doesn't have to protest that vehemently.

"Alright, I believe you," she says before he goes on and bruises her ego further.

Killian finally puts his arms down. "Yeah, I mean, why would _you_ go on a date with me?" he mutters lowly.

Emma frowns at his question. She's not sure if she was supposed to hear it but she did.

"I should go," he says louder, confirming which remark was meant for her and which wasn't. He starts fumbling for the door handle but his hand is trembling, frustrating him in his simple task.

Emma sighs and places a hand on his arm to stop him. She may not want to date him – or acknowledge that she has to constantly remind herself that she doesn't – but she's been where he is. She understands not feeling good enough, feeling the need to run. Though she doesn't quite understand why he feels the way he does – he's sort of awkward, shy and a bit down on himself, but he's also drop-dead gorgeous and kind and likeable. "Hey, I could use the company if you don't mind. And some help eating all these onion rings."

Killian doesn't turn towards her but sits back after a moment. "I really doubt you need help with those onion rings," he finally says.

Emma snorts. She should tell him off for that remark but he's already seen her pack away onion rings earlier that day and it shows her that he's back to that level of comfort he displayed earlier.

She digs into her meal but makes small talk with him. It's kind of comfortable and nice.

"Thank you for posting bail today, too," she says suddenly, remembering she hadn't said that earlier. "You really shouldn't go around posting bail and buying all this food and drinks for people. They are going to take advantage of you."

"It was my pleasure, love. And you don't have to worry about me. I really only cover for Lacey."

"You and Lacey make an odd couple," she remarks. She kind of wants to dig into that relationship. She figures Killian probably does anything that woman tells him to do and she feels a surge of protectiveness at that thought.

"We're not a couple," Killian says the same way he had said that Pop-Tarts didn't equate a date.

It is mildly gratifying to Emma.

"Oh, I know," Emma says around a bite of grilled cheese. She doesn't know how Killian would handle that much eyeliner. "I just meant you two don't even seem like you would be friends." She doesn't say _should_ though she had wanted to.

"Uh, well, we've known each other forever," Killian mumbles quietly. He is looking out her window and scratching his ear.

Didn't she tell herself just yesterday that she didn't want to hear his story? She sighs though because she kind of does. She feels like she would know it, understand it. And she thinks since she's here anyway, maybe she can get Killian to break away from a bad, one-way friendship.

"Alright, out with it," she says to him.

"Hmmm?" he says, not even turning towards her.

"You have something on your mind. I can tell."

"Really?" he asks, surprised.

"Uh huh," she says. "You're like an open book to me."

"Is that so?" he hums. "Are you going to stay in your car all week?"

She narrows her eyes at him but he's not looking at her. She's going to have to find out some other way. "I don't have many options," she finally answers, waving her hand in the direction of Granny's though he can't see. "It's alright," she shrugs, "it's nothing I haven't done before."

"Mary Margaret told me she offered you a room at her loft. That seems like an option."

"Get around much?" Emma raises her brows at him.

Killian blushes and picks up an onion ring. She suspects he's more interested in a distraction than eating it. "Not really. People just talk."

"Don't I know it," Emma replies, rolling her eyes. "And why aren't you in line to offer me your place?"

The tips of his cute little elf ears go pink and Emma can't help but smirk.

"My place is rubbish actually. No one would want to live with a cripple like–"

"Hey, hey, stop doing that to yourself, okay?" Emma protests.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles in reply. But there is no heart in it, there's no agreement in his voice.

Emma takes Killian by the chin and turns him towards him. Her thumb brushes his clean-shaven chin and he squirms under her gaze. But she can also see him fighting to maintain eye contact and it makes her feel oddly proudly. "You are by far one of the most decent person I've ever met. Don't talk yourself down. And don't let others make you feel like you're anything less because of your hand." She thinks of her guffaws the other day. "Like me, especially me."

"But–"

"No buts. It's just a hand."

Killian laughs darkly and pulls his chin out of her grip. "Easy for you to say."

"I'm not saying it's easy to deal with but you don't have to define yourself by it. People are going to tell you who you are your whole life. You just got to punch back and say, 'No, this is who I am.' You want people to look at you differently? Make them."

"Quite passionate, Swan," he breathes. He is quiet for a long time after and she thinks he's just going to leave her car, no matter what she says about it. Because he probably doesn't believe people should look at him differently. But he finally turns towards her again though his chin is buried in his shoulder, his eyes cast down. "It's not just the hand. It's the boating incident that caused it. I…uh, my brother and his girlfriend died and I… it wasn't on purpose, but Mr. Gold, my defense attorney, convinced me I should take a plea bargain."

Emma grips Killian's arm. Hard. She knows all about taking the fall for a crime you didn't even commit. She knows all about the failure of a criminal justice system that made it safer and more appealing to take a deal than fight for justice. She knows – and now, she knows, that he knows all too well – how hard it is to fight for something that should be as simple as the truth. She knows this story.

"Lacey's been there for me when other people haven't," he says after some silence. "When things were rough and I was…you know, people thought I was a criminal when I had just lost everything I ever had."

Emma breathes in sharply. She doesn't believe in fate but damn, maybe she doesn't quite believe in coincidences either.

"She doesn't care what other people think about her or anyone else. And I'm grateful. No one has stuck up for me since…" He trails off, thinking of past times, looking lost again.

"So you stick together?" she asks, her hand still on his arm. She's definitely rethinking her feelings about Lacey.

"Aye."

"And you're sticking with me, too?"

"Aye." He looks up and makes eye contact. "And you too."

"Good" is all she can think of saying when she is looking into his eyes.

(When she wakes the next day, he's still there, sleeping in the seat beside her. She takes the opportunity to nudge a Pop-Tart into his pocket.)

 _ **Thoughts?**_


	4. as you wish

"Care to tell me why I'm constantly waking up with Pop-Tarts in my pocket?" Killian asks as he slides into the passenger seat of the patrol car.

"Care to tell me why you are always falling asleep in vulnerable positions?"

Killian flushes, as she suspects he would. He reaches up to scratch behind his ear. Also predictable. She can't help but smirk at him as she reaches for the to-go cup in the crook of his elbow.

"It's Storybrooke," he counters. "I dare say I'm pretty safe."

"I don't know about that. There's evil queens and collapsed mines," she replies, thinking of her first day as deputy.

"Aye, there's that. But there's also a brilliant deputy protecting this town. I wager she'll protect me from danger."

"Daring? Wagering? What kind of gambler, are you?" she smirks at him.

"I like to think of myself more as a pirate, Swan. Like Han Solo," he says, straightening up in his seat.

"Han Solo?" Emma replies in surprise. She has to press her lips together to stop herself from smiling. And telling him that Han Solo is her favorite kind of pirate.

"You're a librarian," she finally says, waving her drink in his direction. "Shouldn't you be, I don't know, referencing books instead of movies?"

"Oi, just because I live in a small town doesn't mean I'm a one dimensional man!"

Emma smiles this time, glad her teasing hasn't gone the wrong direction as it had earlier in their relationship.

"And who could resist Princess Leia?" he adds.

Emma snorts. "I bet you like that gold bikini, huh?"

"The gold?" he splutters and Emma fears that she's reminded him of his old defense attorney, Mr. Gold. Killian had been out of his mind when she told him of the deal she made with Gold to save Ashley's baby. She and Mary Margaret actually had to hold Killian down to stop him from rushing over to the pawnshop to offer himself up instead like some sacrificial lamb.

"That's an awful scene, Swan," he says, affecting a shudder. "It's degrading to the princess and all women."

Emma raises an impressed brow.

Killian raises one back at her. "Of course I like her for her fierce mind, stubbornness and empathy," he gives her a half-teasing smile but his eyes are earnest.

"Good," she nods at him.

They fall into a comfortable silence as she directs the patrol car along the perimeter of the town. She had been resistant to staying in Storybrooke, mostly because she felt guilty about Henry and didn't know what place she should have in his life, but she also thought that she couldn't live a quiet life out here on the coast of Maine. Now, she looks forward to these drives with Killian. They are relaxing in a way her life had never been.

"Maybe we should have a picnic this weekend," she says to him. "The weather looks good. And we could watch Star Wars at the loft with Henry."

They've spent a lot of time together but none of them have been social events or with her son. She knows Henry likes Killian, that sometimes, instead of going home, Henry will hang out at the school library to read or do his homework. And apparently, listen to Killian spin tales. "He tells the _best_ stories. But only when no one's around," Henry had said to her one day after Killian dropped him off at the station.

She can't imagine Killian telling stories to her. He can still be very shy and skittish on days that end with a 'y'. But he's also very earnest and caring and she knows if she's down, like Henry has been in the recent past, he would do anything to lift her spirits. She wants to hear one of these stories, told in his deep enthralling brogue, but she also knows he's not ready. Maybe as a first step they can share a timeless story of space adventure with her son. "I'm not sure if he's seen it though. Do you know?" she asks.

She waits a beat. And then another. And then frowns when Killian doesn't say anything in response. She sneaks a glance at him and finds him asleep against the passenger window. With a sigh, she pulls over.

She's already found him asleep at his desk at work and on a park bench of all places. She had placed his jacket over his shoulders the first time. The second time she had sat with him for a bit, until the sun began to set, and she had to wake him up and escort him to the docks. He wouldn't let her take him to his place but she saw him stumble towards some rundown units that seemed cobbled together with flat metal sheets.

She leans over him now so she can tuck her scarf between the window and his face. Her frown deepens when she gets a closer look at him. There are dark shadows under his eyes and his brow is furrowed even in sleep. She finds herself brushing his fringe from his eyes and he stirs.

"Sorry," she whispers as though speaking any louder would break some unknown spell.

Killian just blinks slowly at her as he tries to get his bearings. She can't help but watch as his dark lashes sweep his cheeks like butterfly wings.

"Fell asleep on you, didn't I?" he finally says, his voice deep and husky with sleep, and making Emma's mind go places they shouldn't go. "I believe that means I should be the one to apologize."

"Hmph," Emma manages. "I'm the one who woke you," she says after she clears her throat.

Killian mumbles a token protest but he's probably sincere. He tries to sit upright but Emma gently pushes him back down while her other hand continues to stroke his hair. "I think you should continue taking a nap."

"It would be rude," Killian almost whines.

"Care to tell me what's keeping you up at night then?"

"Keeping me?" Killian seems suddenly more alert. "Uh," he says, licking his lips. "Nothing…there's nothing…"

Emma sends him her patent glare. "Nuh uh, you already know about my superpower."

"I can't really explain it…" Killian edges.

She doesn't back down, one hand still on his shoulder, the other in his hair, and her gaze unwavering. He sighs when he realizes she's not giving him an out this time. "I'm having these strange dreams about my brother and uh…I guess… You see, I had this crush on Milah. She was a few years older than me and of course, never gave me the time of day. And he, Liam, could be a bit of an arse, and dated her because I was interested and well, because he could. "

Emma scrunches her nose in distaste. She does not like what she's hearing about Liam's treatment of his younger brother. "But in my dreams, Milah was with me. She wanted to be with me, she admired me," he says like it is crazier than believing in a cursed town. She wants to protest but knows if she interrupts, he won't finish.

"And Liam was still an arse but it was different. In the way it should be between brothers. Their…deaths, were different in my dream too, but they felt real. It was still all my fault." He shakes his head as though he can shake the images from his head. Emma has the same habit. She also knows how ineffective it is to get rid of something seared into your soul that way. "I'm just having a hard time sleeping," he finally finishes weakly, looking down and away from her.

She thinks of all the comforting things someone might say at this moment but they all sound rather empty. "So am I," she finally says as she starts stroking his hair again.

"Really?" he asks in a small voice that sounds like her past.

"Yeah, with that mining incident and everything that's going on with Regina…" It's not even the same but he cares about other people and that's enough to get him out of his own head. "I haven't had a decent night sleep since that night we fell asleep in the Bug together," she continues.

Killian looks up, startled, and then turns a deep red.

Emma can't help but blush, too. She hadn't realize it until she had said it – she hadn't had a decent night's sleep since they shared greasy onion rings and company and comfort that night in her Bug. Mary Margaret's place is nice and the bed softer for her back but Emma just doesn't feel at home yet.

At the startling thought of home and what could and could not mean home to her, Emma lets go of Killian and sits back abruptly in her seat.

She sees him eye her curiously but she turns away from him. "Your free period is almost over. We should head back." She starts the ignition and he doesn't say anything on the drive back. The silence is anything but comforting.

* * *

It's one in the morning and Emma is still tossing and turning on the borrowed floral bedspread. She sits up with a sigh and reaches for her glasses on the nightstand. Her hand comes into contact with a book instead. The book Killian left in the car.

Emma shakes her head. What's with Storybrooke citizens leaving books in her car anyway?

She meant to text him about the book but didn't feel like contacting him after this afternoon. She's still a bit shaken by how she easily and unconsciously she associated _home_ with Killian. She's never even had a home so how would she even know what one feels like? She clutches the book in her hands. She's done this fall before. And she ended up alone, abandoned, in jail and pregnant. She needs to give this book back to him. Perhaps put some distance between them. She's not sure how long she's staying anymore but she's not staying that long, he can't start depending on her and she can't start depending on him.

She nods to herself. She'll give the book to Mary Margaret first thing in the morning. That way, she won't even have to see Killian. And she'll go out to patrol early, before his free period, so he can't come ride with her. She tosses the book towards her nightstand and it slides across the top and tumbles to the ground. If it had been her book, she would've left it there but knowing how fastidious Killian generally is, she feels obligated to pick it up. And thinking about how fastidious he is, she wonders if he turned over the entire school library looking for it.

She sighs and picks up both the book and her phone. She squints at the screen as she types out a message without the benefit of her glasses. She could at least send him a text so he knows where the book is. And it is too late for him to respond so, no big deal.

Except she get a response even before she can set her phone down.

 _It's a gift. Keep it._

 _Keep it? Doesn't it belong to the school library?_ She types back, already forgetting that she hadn't wanted to engage in a conversation with him.

 _I know how much you like pirates. ;)_

Emma can't help but laugh out loud. She belatedly claps a hand over her mouth, hoping she hasn't woken up Mary Margaret.

 _How do you know that?_

 _Your eyes lit up when I mentioned Han Solo._

Emma bits her lower lip, touched that he's so observant, that he pays attention. Even he-who-must-not-be-named kept forgetting things about her. She reaches for her glasses and turns on the lamp by the nightstand. She takes a closer look at the book. It looks well read but as she now suspects, there are no bar codes that indicate it actually belongs to the school.

She flips to the front cover and sees the book is called _The Princess Bride_. She frowns. She thinks she's heard of it before, like people have heard of _Pride and Prejudice_ , but it certainly doesn't sound like her kind of novel. She doesn't do princesses and fairytales.

Her phone vibrates in her hand and she looks down.

 _Don't let the title deter you, Swan. I think you'll find the pirate quite dashing._

Emma snorts. _It will be better if you'd read it to me,_ she types out _._

Emma groans when she reads what she has just written. She should not be conversing with anyone at this time at night. She goes to delete the text when of course, she accidentally sends it instead.

 _As you wish,_ he responds immediately.

She lies back in her bed anticipating his call. But he doesn't. This is the first time Killian hasn't followed through and she tells herself, this is fine, what could she expect? People just let her down. She wanted to step away from him anyway. So what if he's sort of taking the first step?

But then she feels guilty for thinking poorly of Killian. Mary Margaret had given her some more of Killian's backstory, about how he was treated like a criminal when he was released, how he struggled to get a job, how he had been a painfully shy teen but had withdrawn even further into himself.

"He has a really big heart. He feels so strongly. But no one has ever given him the chance to be part of something."

She can imagine him, a lanky shy kid with big dreams ( _so_ , _what are you fighting for?_ she had asked) but then crushed by the lost of his brother, haunted by the death of another, left to fend for himself in the dusty shelves of a small town library, with the town drunkard as his only friend.

And now she wants to step away from him, thinks poorly of him, because well, she's _afraid_. And why? Because he has deep ocean blue eyes? He's not even her type. They really could be friends. He doesn't have to be home.

Before she can think any further on the matter, she hears a clatter in the alley below, just outside her window. Her instincts kick in and she reaches in her drawer to grab her gun. She slowly edges to the window, using her free hand to push her glasses up her nose.

When she looks out, she sees Killian Jones climbing up the fire escape to her window. And he is surprisingly nimble. As though he sneaks into women's bedrooms all the time, she snorts to herself.

She puts her gun down and pushes the lower pane of the window up so she can lean out. "What the hell are you are doing?" she hisses when he is close enough.

He looks up and loses his footing for a moment. She feels her heart jump into her throat but he just keeps climbing up until he's level with her. "You said it would be better if I read the book to you."

She stares at him, not knowing what to say. When people say they will do something, sometimes they won't, sometimes they will, but they don't do _this_.

As the silence stretches, he begins to look very unsure of himself. "Uh…unless it was a joke? I can just go."

He looks so insecure that she can't help but put her hand out for him to take. "No, no, I just thought you would call."

"Oh, I gave you my copy," he explains as he climbs through the window and like what he is doing is completely normal and not very John Cusack.

"Nice glasses, Swan," he says once he's in her room. The bastard is smirking, she notes with narrowed eyes.

Emma pushes him onto her bed. "Shut up and start reading, pirate."

"As you wish," he chuckles.

(When she wakes up the next day, the book is open on his chest and she is tucked into his side. She thinks of pulling away but instead, she stays.)

 _ **Thoughts?**_


	5. a brave little princess

They finished Princess Bride the night before so Emma doesn't know if he will come tonight. It's not like it's plannedor anything. He just keeps climbing up her fire escape like it's West Side Story. Without snapping fingers and slicked-back hair. Just shy grins and hair falling across too blue eyes.

But they are done now. Story told, the end, no plans for a sequel. Emma shakes her head and gets off the bed. She's waiting around like some teenage girl. That girl doesn't exist anymore. She grew up. She was forced to grow up. There's no pirate voyaging across land and sea to take her away.

She's changing, her head and arms stuck in her shirt, when Killian climbs through her window.

"Oh, oh, I'm so sorry."

She can practically hear his embarrassment. Emma struggles a bit to lower her shirt back down. She almost laughs when she sees him, his eyes covered by a book, arms crossed before him like she's going to attack him with her partial nudity.

She keeps her eye on Killian as she finishes up. He is as still as a statue.

"It's safe now," she teases.

"I didn't mean to," he says, arms still up.

Emma can't help but smile fondly. She reaches over and forces him to lower his arms.

"This is what you get when you sneak into women's bedrooms."

He turns red. "I, I was…I…brought you a new book," he says, not looking her in the eye yet. He practically thrusts it into her hands.

She accepts it with a smile before pushing him onto the bed. It's becoming a bit of a ritual.

"You're welcome anytime, you know," she tells him softly, surprising herself with her invite and how much she means it.

He looks up at her in awe and she's not sure how she deserves this from such a small gesture. But she understands it, how any act of kindness, any olive branch, seems like the world when you've been let down so often.

She gently nudges him until he has maneuvered to his side of the bed and she settles next to him just as she looks at the cover of her new book. "A Little Princess?" she frowns when she reads the title.

"What's the matter?"

"I'm not a princess," she says, dropping the book in his lap.

She can feel him eyeing her but she refuses to look at him. Or the book. She's not a princess. Not like Henry believes. Not like she once dreamed.

Killian shifts closer to her until their sides are pressed together. "Nonsense, Swan. All little girls are princesses."

"I'm not a little girl," she snorts, still looking away from him.

"Aye, I've noticed," he says lowly in her ear and she can't help but feel that swopping motion in her stomach again, like when they first met. "Try something new, darling."

"And what is that?" she sighs, finally looking at him.

He winks at her. "It's called trust." And he starts reading.

* * *

Emma is tracing the spine of "A Little Princess", wondering what happens next to Sara Crewe after she's been moved to the attic, when Graham shows up with a box of breakfast pastries.

"Sometimes the clichés are true," he says to her.

She knows a bribe when she sees one. "Okay, what do you want?"

"Remember when I said no night shifts?"

She tilts her head back, hoping he's kidding.

"I need you to work tonight. Just this once."

"Why?" she finds herself whining. This means she will have to miss a reading with Killian. She barely catches Graham's response about volunteering at an animal shelter and feeding puppies.

Of course he's feeding puppies.

She reaches for the bear claw. "Maybe Killian can stop by," she thinks out loud. She doesn't realize that Graham has heard her until he shifts closer and sits on her desk.

"What now?" she asks around a mouthful of pastry.

"You know, Jones has had a run-in with the law."

"Seriously?" she sits up and glares at him. She doesn't know how anyone who knows Killian could ever believe he's a criminal. She knows criminals. Hell, she was a criminal. Killian is nothing of the sort.

"There was this girl…"

"I know," she interrupts.

"He confessed to–"

"And it's that simple?" she challenges. Because she knows, it's never that simple.

"Isn't it?" Graham counters. "If you're serious about protecting this community, you can't continue cavorting with a criminal."

"I probably shouldn't be taking a bribe either," she says as she throws her bear claw in the trash.

* * *

Killian is leaning against the patrol car when she walks out of the station. "For the night shift," he says, holding up a to-go cup.

"Thanks," she smiles tightly. She hadn't expected him to stop by when she complained that she had to work tonight. Sure, she had wanted him to stop by but she didn't – couldn't – invite him.

She is glad to see him though, even if it's just for a few minutes. It had been a rough day. Graham kept trying to bring up Killian's record, as though there wasn't a resident drunk or a pawnshop owner trading babies in town. The tension had been palpable in the sheriff's office and she actually started looking forward to the night patrol just so she could get away. She's good at the getaway part.

"I know it will probably be past your bedtime when I'm done, but maybe you could come by again in the morning?" she says as she leans her head on his shoulder, the stress from earlier today receding in his presence. "I could use another coffee then."

"Come again?" Killian tilts his head curiously down at her. "But, aren't we going to ride together, Swan? We always ride together."

Emma winces. Maybe she should've expected this. He is here after all.

"Look, Killian." She doesn't know what Killian used to do in the evenings before he started climbing through her window but she hadn't expected to have this conversation quite yet. "Graham doesn't think…"

Killian's face falls instantly and she finds it hard to tell him that Graham has pretty much forbid him for joining her on rides or anything else while she is acting in an official capacity. She tries to give him a sympathetic look but thinks she ends up looking just helpless.

"Graham doesn't think I should be around you," he finishes for her. "Right. I should go."

"Hey, hey," she says, reaching out to him, but he is already stepping to the side, and all her hands grasp is air. Shefeels his absence in the missed grab. Like she had felt the absence of her parents her entire life, of the baby she gave away. It scares her and she is the one that retreats again.

"It's just patrol. No big deal," she shrugs as though she hadn't been angry about it all day, as though she didn't look forward to patrols with him.

He stops and studies her. She wants to fidget under his blue gaze but she looks away instead.

"I understand, Swan," he smiles sadly at her as though he does understand, as though this isn't about what Graham has mandated anymore or what anyone else thinks, it's about how scared she is of truly acknowledging his importance to her, it's about how she pushes people away.

"Have a safe patrol." He says it like he's saying goodbye.

"Killian! Wait!" she cries when he rushes away. She starts after him but he vanishes around a corner. She runs down a couple alleyways but he is nowhere in sight. "He probably climbed up a fire escape," she mutters to herself after checking a few more streets.

She is still thinking about the look of Killian's face when she's halfway through patrol. She glances at her phone again. He hasn't returned her text either. She's pulled away before, when she had thought of Killian as her home. She had been able to suppress that thought, denied her heart that conversation, and things had been fine between her and Killian. She just needs to do it again.

She is making a mental note to stop by the school in the morning to talk to him when she catches a shadow sneaking out of Regina's house.

It takes her a moment to process that the man sneaking out of the mayor's bedroom window is Graham. "This is volunteering?"

"Plans changed. Regina needed me."

"To sleep with her?" She can't believe what Graham has been doing while Henry is in the house.

She tosses the keys to the squad car at Graham. "You can finish your shift. I'm done working nights."

She walks all the way down to the docks. She had told herself she needed to talk to Killian about Henry and Graham and Regina. She had even repeated it under her breath as she walked there.

She looks down at her phone again. Still no message from Killian. She hesitates for a moment, shifting on her feet in the cold, before sending off another text. She doesn't expect a reply and she doesn't get it.

She should walk away now. She knows this isn't just about talking to a friend, updating them on the sordid details of her son's adopted mother and other town gossip. She is getting in too deep, she can feel herself standing on the verge. She has been down this road before and she knows that it is riddled with heartache.

She's about to turn when she hears the clock tower tick. All the way from Main Street. It's midnight now.

She may not have found the people she was looking for. But other people found her. "Son of a bitch," she mutters to herself before she squares her shoulders and follows the path down towards the rundown shacks where she knows Killian lives.

* * *

Emma Swan has had her fair share of bad days. More than fair share in fact. And she can add this one to the count. She hadn't been able to find Killian's place last night and he hadn't shown up for work or reached out to her all day. She had been telling herself that it was for the best. Fate wanted them to keep their distance. Then Graham threw a dart at her like that was a reasonable way to start a conversation. And now that sorry excuse for authority is grabbing her face and is kissing her.

"What the hell was that? That was way over the line!"

"I'm sorry, I just –"

"What? You what?" She doesn't care for apologies, she just wants to know what the hell is going on.

"I just need to feel something," he finally says as he steps closer.

Oh, she's going to make him feel something alright. But before she can even lift her knee up, Killian is looming in the background right over Graham's shoulder. She's never seen the mild-mannered librarian angry. But he looks ready for war.

"Oi, the lady said that was over the line!" Killian shouts at Graham before turning the sheriff towards him and punching him in the face.

Emma's given her fair share of right hooks. More than fair share in fact. So she knows a good one when she sees one.

Graham takes a bit to recover, shaking his head, holding the side of his jaw in pain. But he's not going down without a fight either and he charges at Killian. Emma moves to intervene but Killian side-steps him at the last moment and pivots, lands a punch in Graham's gut before flipping the man onto the pavement in one seamless move.

"Where did you get those moves from?" Emma exclaims as Killian looks back and forth between Graham on the ground and his own hands.

"I, I don't know," Killian stutters. "I took a self-defense course at the local gymnasium once. Maybe it's muscle memory?"

"That's quite some muscle memory," she replies, still in shock.

"That's assault," Graham mutters from his prone position on the ground.

"So was that kiss," Emma counters as she maneuvers herself between the sheriff and the librarian.

Graham averts his eyes at that and let's his head fall to the ground. Emma doesn't wait around for him to come to his senses. She grabs Killian's prosthetic hand and leaves.

* * *

"You know I can save myself, right?" she is saying to Killian as she leads him into the loft.

"Aye, I know, Swan. But I couldn't stand by while he…he, um…" Killian just finished by making a lot of gestures.

"What? Besmirched my honor?" she asks with a small smile.

"Have you been reading a dictionary without me?"

Emma slaps him playfully on the arm. He looks up briefly and smiles, but he doesn't really look her in the eye and his smile is tight. It feels like they are back to their earlier days. Isn't that what she had wanted? Not to get too involved?

But she misses him. It's been all of a day and she misses him. "Hey, I wouldn't read without you." She pulls at his hand and he winces.

"You hurt yourself," she frowns at his torn knuckles. She doesn't know how she's missed them before. "C'mon, let's get you cleaned up."

"Perhaps I should just go to the hospital," he grimaces, turning away from the sight of his own blood.

Emma tries hard not to laugh. "I've gotten into a few scrapes myself from my bail bond days so I think I can handle this for you." She doesn't want to hand him to Whale either who she suspects has an alcohol problem. She rather just take care of Killian herself.

"Aye, I've noticed. You seem fond of telling folks that you could just punch them in the face."

Emma couldn't help but laugh this time. "You've noticed, huh?"

"Of course, I notice everything about you."

"No, you don't," she scoffs, averting her eyes and pulling him into the bathroom. She directs him to sit on the edge of the tub as she digs through the medicine cabinet for some alcohol and some gauze.

She doesn't expect Killian to press on. It's rare for him to do it, especially when it comes to them. "I notice you won't look me in the eye when you are scared."

Emma rolls her eyes. "And what am I scared of?" she asks as she pointedly looks at him in the eye.

"Of believing me."

Emma blinks and turns her head away before she realizes what she is doing. "There's no damn alcohol in here. I'm going to the kitchen."

She takes her time considering bottles of wine, trying not to think about what Killian has just said. She picks a red she doesn't particularly like from the back but then sees a bottle of rum behind it. "Mary Margaret has been hiding the good stuff," she says, holding it aloft, when she returns.

"Rum?" Killian wrinkles his nose in distaste and it's not way too adorable. Of course not.

Emma shakes her head. "Don't tell me you are allergic to it?"

"No, just goat's milk."

"How do you know you are allergic to goat's milk?" Emma holds up her free hand. "No, no, never mind, I don't care to know. Let's just take care of your hand."

"I thought you said my injury is not that bad. You even tried not to laugh at it. Why would I need to imbibe in any liquor?" Killian finishes his question on a particular high note as Emma pours the wine on his hand. "What did you do that for?"

"Just sanitizing it," she says as she dabs at his battle wounds. She uses her free hand to wrap the gauze around his knuckles and leans down to tighten the end of it with her teeth.

"You couldn't have just put the bottle of rum down?" Killian breathes in her ear.

Emma startles and looks up, her face mere inches for Killian. "I…I…I didn't think about it."

"Perhaps there is a language which is not made of words and everything in the world understands it," he quotes fromThe Little Princess. She remembers him reading it. She remembers him murmuring it into her ear like there was noting truer in the world.

Emma puts down the bottle of rum and corks it to keep her hands busy. She knows and doesn't know what he is trying to say. She goes with the safe route though. "You were supposed to read to me yesterday. You're going to have to make it up to me."

"Is that an order, princess?"

She can't help but smile at his teasing tone. "Yeah, that's an order," she says she slides her fingers into Killian's hand and squeezes lightly, mindful of his injury.

"And how am I to make up for it?"

She means to tell him that he has to read an extra chapter for her tonight. They can keep things the way they are. Safe and distant. But when Killian squeezes her hand, she looks up instinctively and she finds him looking at her earnestly, and she can't turn away this time, she sees strength and bravery in his eyes and she's not afraid, she finds strength and bravery in herself too.

"Kiss me."

* * *

 _ **Thoughts?**_


End file.
